


Storms

by dendraica



Category: DreamWorks Dragons (Cartoon), How to Train Your Dragon (Movies)
Genre: Abusive Dad, Challenge fic, Friends to Lovers, M/M, tending injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:34:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23386684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dendraica/pseuds/dendraica
Summary: Dagur sees something Tuff didn’t mean for him to see. (HTTYD RarePair Bingo challenge: ‘Finding Bruises on a S/O’)
Relationships: Dagur the Deranged/Tuffnut Thorston
Kudos: 39
Collections: HTTYD RarePair Bingo





	Storms

“What is that?”

Normally Dagur never interrupted Boynut when he told one of his humorous anecdotes. Hiccup’s friend could be rambling and nonsensical at times, but he liked the rider’s voice.

He’d made an exception this time however, pointing at the strip of skin across his stomach that Tuff’s shirt was showing. He’d stretched his arms out wide, trying to convey just how big around the boar in his story had been.

Tuff stopped mid-sentence, realizing, and abandoned his story, hurriedly adjusting the shirt so it covered him. He wasn’t wearing his usual tunic and belt today, just a loose blue shirt and his leggings.

The Twins and Fishlegs had been assembling their winter gear from Berk and had returned to the Edge just an hour ago, far later than they were due to arrive.

Their arrival had been oddly tense and weird - Fishlegs had immediately apologized for their lateness before Astrid could demand what happened, saying that he’d been stuck choosing which books and how much ink and parchment to take. Ruff had been silent, the very image of calm before a hurricane, hand on her brother’s arm, and Tuff had simply looked exhausted.

He was more animated now, with some food and warm mead inside him, and to all appearances it had just been the long ride that explained his earlier solemn mood. However, the glimpse of skin Dagur had just seen was dark and mottled. Something was wrong.

“What? Is it the color?” Tuff asked, redirecting. “I know, it doesn’t look as good on me as green. My tunic got covered with dragon slobber.”

It was a lie. The others did not appear to pick up on it, giving sympathetic groans. Snotlout commiserated by bringing up how badly Monstrous Nightmare drool stained in comparison to the drool of other dragons.

“Guys, come on, it’s not a competition,” Hiccup sighed.

“Shut up, Hiccup,” the others retorted amiably in unison. Hiccup grumbled but leaned back in his chair, scratching Toothless under the chin.

Fishlegs countered by reminding everyone that Gronckle saliva actually burned holes in things, and as things started to heat up in the dragon slobber fandom, Dagur caught sight of Tuff slinking back toward the kitchen area of the Clubhouse.

He excused himself after a moment and went into the kitchen, casually getting himself a mug to pour mead out of a barrel. Tuff wasn’t making himself any food or drink, just lurking in a dark corner. He startled when he saw Dagur but held still and said nothing, clearly hoping he went unnoticed.

It was a far cry from how friendly the boy usually acted, enough that Dagur set down his mead without drinking any and turned to face him. “You okay, Tuff?”

Tuff looked like he was ready to jump out of his skin. “I’m fine,” he almost snapped, arms crossed over his chest. “Everything is fine.”

It was clearly not.

When Dagur reached out to put a calming hand on his shoulder he flinched.

Tuff didn’t ever flinch from contact - not even from him.

Shocked, Dagur didn’t take back his hand, instead pulling him close into a worried bear hug, though gentler than the breath stealing squeezes he often inflicted on his ‘little brother’. Tuff froze tensely but didn’t jerk away or protest.

“What’s wrong?” Dagur asked firmly.

“ _Nothing_ ,” came the muffled reply, though Tuff was starting to tremble. Eventually he leaned in, hiding his face against Dagur’s shoulder and returning the embrace.

“There he is,” Dagur teased gently, feeling some relief. “Where’d you go, Boynut?”

“Sorry,” Tuff sniffled. “Not trying to be a jerk, I just - I got in a bad fight. At home.”

He hadn’t been a jerk, but Dagur’s main concern was what he’d said after that. He let Tuff go, allowing him to pull back if he wanted. Tuff did, though he stayed close. “At home? Someone from home hurt you?”

Tuffnut faltered, then walked it back, sounding frantic. “I didn’t say I was hurt. It was just a bad fight. Dad said some words and Ruff stood up for me, then he said something about her and I threw a mug at him. Hard.”

Dagur remembered the red and darkening purples he’d seen across the boy’s stomach. “So you hit him with a mug and he whaled on you?”

“No. I missed him completely and it shattered. But it was his favorite mug that grandma got him.” Tuff sounded both proud and horrified at his transgression. Dagur put his hands on Tuff’s shoulders gently. He winced but this time leaned toward Dagur instead of flinching.

“What happened after the mug broke?”

Tuff bit his lip, going pale. “He got up.”

It was all Tuff could seem to say and perhaps all he needed to.

Dagur put an arm around his shoulders. “Okay. When you guys visit Berk again for a holiday, could I come with you? I’ve been thinking, I’ve never met everyone’s parents. Next time I think I’ll tag along to your home and meet the Thorstons.”

Tuff looked up at him, considering that. “Well, our mom would like you. She said we actually have some Berserker blood in our family. She didn’t tell me who though.”

“Really? I’m not surprised, you two definitely have some Berserker traits. Your insane bravery for one. And your amazing traps, remember when you booby trapped the whole island after we kidnapped Ruff?”

A fond grin appeared on Tuff’s face. “I do. You talk about it a lot, especially when you’ve been drinking. I think one time you may have cried.”

Dagur burst into embarrassed laughter. “Right. That was a lot of mead.” He pulled Tuff a bit closer. “Not gonna lie, I’m glad I’m on your side now, so I don’t have your destructive genius aimed at me.”

“What makes you think you’re safe from that?” Tuff snickered but he was grinning as he said it and finally relaxed. He leaned into Dagur, shoulder and side pressing against his. “So I’m taking you home to meet my parents next month when the storms let up? Is that what we’re doing?” Tuff’s tone was playfully sultry.

“Yep,” Dagur said, face turning a bit red but going with it. “Gotta let them know my intentions toward their son.”

That sent Tuff into a blushing fit but he soldiered on. “You’re going to ask Papa for my hand?”

“And he’s going to say yes and offer to pay for the wedding, right before he passes out in my Berserker chokehold,” Dagur said matter-of-factly, and Tuff wheezed, covering his face and almost beet red.

“Okay,” he managed to squeak through his fingers. “Awesome.”

He was comfortably leaning against Dagur, who took the opportunity to wrap an arm around him again. Tuff relaxed, taking his hands away from his face and allowing the touch without further comment.

For a few moments neither of them spoke, realizing their exchange might have a little more weight to it than either of them had given thought to.

“They say arnica’s good for bruises,” Dagur suggested finally. “I’ve got some salve in my bags - I use it on Shattermaster’s wing every morning. He’s been recovering quickly. You want some?”

Tuff nodded, uncharacteristically quiet and still blushing.

Dagur released him from the embrace and led him to Fishy’s hut where he was staying for the storm period. Tuffnut remained at his side the whole way there, close enough to almost trip him, like a puppy underfoot. It was adorable.

Once inside, he picked up his bag, rummaging around for the tin of salve and hoping he didn’t leave it all the way back at the stable. He heard Tuff sit down on the pallet of blankets and furs that Fishlegs had laid out for his Berserker guest.

“Is he taking good care of you? Fishlegs?”

“Yeah, he’s a good host. We’re morning meditation buddies, and he makes some really good herbal tea. Very cleansing.” His hand found the right shape and he pulled the salve out triumphantly, tossing the rucksack back into the corner.

Tuff had laid down across the pallet, looking thoughtfully up at the ceiling, his legs crossed. “Okay. Well, if he wasn’t a good host, I was going to tell you he keeps all the snacks his mom sends him in the upper left cabinet behind some books.”

Dagur snorted, amused he’d just told him anyway. He sat down on the bed, opening the tin. “I can help you put some on if you’d like me to.”

The blond rider looked at him a moment and then nodded, sitting up to take off his shirt. Dagur at once realized the reason why he had worn the shirt loose without a belt - this wasn’t just a few bruises. Wide swaths of dark red and purple wrapped around his ribs and shoulders. His back was the biggest mess of stripes, and Dagur could see older scars - from past ‘fights’ - faded beneath. Dagur swallowed.

“What did he use on you?” he asked neutrally, scooping some salve out and sitting behind Tuff to spread it across the inflamed skin. Inside him something was boiling over with dark rage but he kept his voice and his movements calm for Tuff’s sake.

“The strap for his shaving razor,” Tuff muttered. “He got the drop on me so it was easier to just hold still. If I lay still it’s over faster.” He furrowed his brow, looking angry at himself for saying that aloud. “Sorry -“

“It’s okay.”

“I sound pathetic,” Tuff argued.

“You do not. Getting hurt by family is way worse than getting hurt by strangers, because it’s not supposed to happen.” Dagur moved his hair aside, draping it forward over his shoulders so he could get the hand-sized bruise on the back of his neck. He rubbed the salve gently across it, listening carefully to make sure he wasn’t hurting him.

“Everyone gets punished by their dad once in a while,” Tuff dismissed. “I’m a trouble-maker, I get extra.”

That sentiment bothered him. Tuff shouldn’t be accepting this sort of treatment, no matter what he’d done. “I made a lot of trouble. Would it have been okay if my dad had beaten the crap out of me?” Dagur asked pointedly.

Tuff’s shoulders stiffened under his hand. “No! It wouldn’t …” Stricken, he looked anxiously back at him over his shoulder. “Oswald didn’t ever, did he?”

“No. He didn’t,” Dagur answered quietly. “He would talk to me and make me understand what I did wrong, and I would either feel ashamed or I wouldn’t. But he never beat me.”

The worst thing Oswald had ever done was disappear, but that was a different kind hurt. He hadn’t meant to never come back, hadn’t meant for Dagur to feel like an unlovable monster whose own father didn’t want to be near him anymore.

Tuff’s dad though? That man had definitely meant to hurt him.

And judging by the blond’s sagging shoulders and look of quiet devastation, he was starting to accept that it wasn’t normal.

Dagur spread the salve everywhere he saw discoloration, then coaxed Tuff to turn around so he could get his chest and arms. He said nothing about the tear tracks on the rider’s cheeks, but they made him want to pay Berk a little visit before the storms landed and unleash some thunder and lightning of his own.

Tuff leaned into his touch as Dagur‘s fingers traced over his skin. One hand went up to move his hair again, intending to drape his braids across his back so he could get to his collarbone but it got lost and cupped his face instead.

Hitching, Tuff nuzzled his palm and kissed it and that was honestly all he needed.

Dagur capped the salve and tossed it aside on the bed, gathering Tuff against him and kissing him firmly.

The trickster kissed back enthusiastically, his long limbs wrapping around him tightly. When they came up for air, Tuff clung to him still, nuzzling his throat. He was shaking. Murmuring in concern, Dagur hugged him closer.

“You aren’t going to have to face him alone again,” he promised, kissing Tuff’s forehead. “Neither you or Ruff.” He kissed along the bridge of Tuff’s nose, caressing his face. “I’ll put the terror of Dagur into him.”

Tuff melted against him, grey eyes soft. “You don’t have to, you know. He’s got lots of mugs. Maybe one of these days, I’ll actually nail him with one.”

“Tuff,” Dagur sighed with exasperated affection. He cupped the rider’s face and kissed him. Later would be a talk about thinking better of himself.

For now, they were in his bed and together, while outside the storm-winds began to howl.


End file.
